


Tickled Pink

by Salmon_Pink



Category: DCU (Comics)
Genre: F/F, Femslash February, Porn Battle, Tickling
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-02-04
Updated: 2014-02-04
Packaged: 2018-01-11 05:12:01
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,137
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1169083
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Salmon_Pink/pseuds/Salmon_Pink
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Ivy doesn't play fair, and neither do her plants.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Tickled Pink

**Author's Note:**

> Written for [Femslash February](http://www.tumblr.com/tagged/femslash+february), and for [Porn Battle XV](http://battle.oxoniensis.org/index.html), prompt "Harley Quinn/Pamela Isley - giggles".

Harley squirms fitfully, eyes squeezed shut and her face sweaty and pink. Every jerk of her arms pulls at the vines wrapped around her wrists, her forearms, her elbows, but their hold doesn’t give in the slightest. 

She tries to stretch out, to brush the tips of her toes against the floor, but the plants hold up her, helplessly dangling in the air. She tries to curl up, to fold in on herself, but the plants keep her limbs pulled away from her body.

She’s wriggling and her chest burns, it _burns_ , can’t catch that good solid breath that will make it easier, that will make her head stop swimming. She’s going to _die_ like this, she realises distractedly, and the thought doesn’t scare her but it _is_ frustrating, because she’s not ready for her game-over screen yet. She still has things to do.

Like getting revenge on Ivy.

“Oooh, I’m gonna _kill_ you, Red,” she manages, voice shaking randomly around the words.

“It’s your own fault, you know,” Ivy smirks in response, eyes narrowed as she watches every spasm and twitch of Harley’s muscles. “You’re the one who said I was no fun. I’m only proving you wrong.”

And Harley has a reply to that, one that’s creative and intelligent and full of long words, or is mostly just swearing, whatever, but all that happens when she opens her mouth is more _laughter_.

Of all the ways to go, ‘death by _tickling_ ’ isn’t how she imagined punching her ticket.

Admittedly, it’s probably going to look really cool in the twenty-page tribute the Gotham Gazette is sure to write for her, but right now it’s _torture_.

There are petals, soft and delicate and multicoloured, tracing over her naked skin. Those weird little yellow antennae things in the centre of the flowers, which she’s sure Ivy’s told her the name of a hundred times yet she never remembers, are scratching against her ribs. And those thin, teeny-tiny vines, the ones Harley likes because they twist around other plants and try to choke the life out of them and she’s always admired a scrapper, are dragging up under her arms, and Harley lets out a shriek and tries to kick out with feet that can’t move the way she wants.

“I’m gonna peeeee!” she wails, even though she’s not, even though the threat’s as empty as her bladder. But she’s desperate and running out of excuses and reasons for Ivy to let her go already and her throat is on fire from how much she’s giggling.

Ivy just shakes her head, takes a step closer but still manages to stay out of reach of Harley’s flailing legs, of the vines that hold them up and open. “No, you’re not,” she purrs, hand reaching up to stroke over one of the plant stalks. It shivers for her touch, and the vibration buzzes over Harley’s over-sensitised skin, makes her whimper around her helpless giggles. “You’re going to _come_ for me, just like this, just _from_ this, and I’m going to watch and not touch you at _all_.”

Harley’s never heard her own laughter sound quite so much like a _sob_ before.

Ivy just grins at her, apparently far more evil than Harley’s ever given her credit for, and then the plants start to attack in earnest. Like they weren’t even _trying_ before, and Harley writhes and gasps, the noises coming from her mouth sounding increasingly hysterical.

There are touches under her arms, behind her knees, soft and twisting. There are pinches and pokes at her sides. Those little corkscrew vines tweak at her nipples, behind her ears, up and down her neck, making her dizzy, the ache in her chest getting stronger and brighter. Tendrils slide over her throat, high across her inner thighs, down her spine and the cleft of her ass, but nothing touches her pussy, just like Ivy promised, just like she _threatened_.

And now she kind of _does_ feel like she needs to pee, even though she knows she doesn’t really. But it’s this weird sensation between her legs that makes her want to squeeze her thighs together, like she’s about to lose control of herself, more so than she already has. Her pussy is so flushed and heated and wet, and she’s so _aware_ of it, and there are tear-marks down her cheeks and she can’t stop _giggling_. Even though it sounds like crying, even though it sounds like pain, it’s still laughter, like she’s being squeezed and tickled from the inside as well as out.

She’s _throbbing_ , pulse hammering in her swollen labia as well as her chest, and Ivy looks at her with dark eyes. Leaning forward slowly and Harley keens and whines through her laughter, trying to push her hips forward, watery eyes fixed on Ivy’s mouth. She wants it, wants it so bad, wants those lips and that tongue and Ivy’s face buried against her.

But Ivy doesn’t give her that, even though Harley’s shaking so hard for it she might just fall to itty-bitty pieces. Instead Ivy parts her lips and _blows_ , gust of warm air rushing over Harley’s wet pussy, another form of _tickling_ , and it’s too much. She doesn’t even have the breath to scream, head snapping back and muscles standing out tensed and taut. Still giggling, only it sounds more like gurgling now, wrecked and pathetic, and Harley’s eyes roll up, everything spinning white and green. Clenching down on nothing, rush of moisture and sensation as she comes, feeling like she’s been turned inside-out as pleasure chases shivers through her body.

She’s still trembling when the haze in her mind starts to lift, plants lowering her gently to the ground. Every touch feels like that gust of Ivy’s breath, only directly over her frazzled nerves. Her thighs rub together and her body doesn’t know whether it wants her to giggle or _groan_.

“Hate you,” she mutters, sticking out her tongue when Ivy sits on the ground beside her.

“No, you don’t,” Ivy assures her, utterly confident in Harley’s affections. “In fact, I think you’re going to let me do that again. Maybe not tonight, but some time soon.”

“You’re even crazier than I am,” Harley shoots back, prodding Ivy’s hip with her toes.

Ivy just tilts her head and gives her a knowing smile.

“Okay, fine,” Harley sniggers, even though it makes another shock of feeling race through her to laugh like that. She curls around until she can rest her head in Ivy’s lap, Ivy’s fingers automatically settling in her hair, and gives an exaggerated put-upon sigh. “Ask me again in the morning.”

Ivy makes a smug, contented noise and strokes damp hair from Harley’s forehead in that way that never fails to make Harley relaxed and sleepy.

It’s fine. She can plan her revenge another day.


End file.
